


Reparations Outtakes

by dendrite_blues



Series: Reparations and Related Works [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Dom Tony Stark, Family, Fluff, Kid Fic, Kink Exploration, M/M, Sub Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-04 20:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16353785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendrite_blues/pseuds/dendrite_blues
Summary: "Wow, you're a real downer without me." Tony says, and regrets it when Not-Loki agrees.-Deleted and rewritten scenes from my longfic Reparations.





	1. The original chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote chapter one to be a more plot relevant introduction to the fic, so I'm stashing the original chapter one here.

Looking back on it, Tony’s kind of embarrassed it took him so long to notice. It should have been pretty obvious, but this involves Loki so of course it’s a huge fucking ordeal. What tips him off isn’t one particular thing. Actually it's a whole lot of things all pretending to be one thing.

See Tony’s gone a couple rounds with Loki at this point, and had a long career of dodgy bedroom choices before that. He's picked up some wisdom along the way. Number one, it’s always the quiet ones. Number two, don’t bang the fans. But the rule that changes everything is number three, find The Spot.

Sliding his finger in nice and slow, he takes his time for once because the cap on the lube is stuck. Pressing in a little deeper, he rubs a smooth circle just to keep Loki busy and then his whole body from his bony shoulders to his square little butt melts. Right into the mattress. Face down, ass up kind of melts.

He lets out a breathy whine in a pitch he normally only achieves while wearing boobs and stilettos, and hey, there’s an idea. Smokey eyes, jangling bracelets, perfectly good hole right there, but Tony scissoring his fingers in the backdoor anyway. Fuck how did he not notice this sooner? How were there handjobs and facials and fucking high school crap when this guy liked getting fucked that much. No offense to handjobs. Or facials.

One thing is really killing him right now though, even when he’s kneeling over Loki’s thighs and taking him apart with a goddamn finger, one thing is totally blindsiding him. He’s done this three times before and never noticed.

Realizing he never actually got the lube open, Tony fumbles with it, gets everything a little bit wetter, and Loki actually hums. He hums into the comforter and soaks up the feeling, his muscles clenching and loosening and blowing Tony’s mind. Red flag. Abort, abort.

Confession time. Might as well do it now, because he’s having a fucking revelation with his finger up a Norse god’s anus, and if that isn’t the time to set the record straight then there isn’t gonna be one. Hell, if this was really happening, they might as well build the big wood box around his California king, because Tony’s suddenly ready to get a lot of things off his chest.

The first being that he is completely in over his head. He’s never been in a relationship that lasted longer than a Brita filter, and he’s definitely never been in one where his partner didn’t tell him that the happy button in his ass made him smile like a third grader with a popsicle.

Because goddamn, Loki is loving this. He is having his cake and his ice cream and his cookie dough, and he is eating it in the cold dark crevice where he hides all his embarrassing, unwanted parts.  Which is so not okay. Ice Smurf Loki used to live there until Tony locked him in a freezer and ate ice cream off his tits, and Lady Parts Loki did too until Tony, uh,  _well_.

Point is, they have fucked up down and sideways over the last month in all three of Loki's fun flavors. Literally checked every box, all the way down the Kinsey scale and back up. All the tabs into all the slots. And yet Loki isn’t telling him stuff.

Hell, he doesn’t even really care about the big stuff because he’s a fucking realist. If Loki wants to spend his free time poking dragons and shooting spitballs Tony knows he’ll be the last person to hear about it, and he’s okay with that. But when it comes to breakfast cereal and skinny jeans and sex positions he really, really wants to know.

All this time Tony thought they were having fun together, and he’s starting to think Loki was just along for the ride. Literally.

“If you think any louder, Stark, I will have to silence you from the inside out.” Loki growls, which would be threatening except that he’s saying it with his eyes closed and his lips kind of pink and puffy from him chewing on them. Trying to keep himself quiet and not give anything away.

Also,  _Stark._ Yeah, ok, no more slacking off. Time to turn Stark into Anthony, Anthony into Tony, and if he is really good, Tony into  _yes yes yes._ Sure he’s kind of having a crisis, but that’s no excuse to ruin Loki’s night.

Without really thinking about it, he slides a second finger in next to the first and hooks them, pulls Loki up by the butt until he’s really fucking exposed and lets his tongue do the talking. If his favorite bag of cats wants to be difficult, well, Tony can work with that. He licks Loki around his half buried fingers, sloppy and wet in the way that he knows feels awesome and gives him a little drag of teeth over his balls because Loki’s a sucker for pants-shitting terror.

Tony’s pretty sure Loki is on to him because the delicious moans stop, and that’s a real buzz kill. This facet of Loki he’s very familiar with, fucking everyone is.  It’s the part of him that needs everyone in the room to acknowledge that Loki is a strong, independent demigod who don’t need no man. Or petty human things like emotions and mani-pedis. Whatever. Loki has issues, and Tony has his award-winning tongue. He’s pretty sure he can outmaneuver one fucking inferiority complex.

Slowly, very slowly he pulls out his fingers and starts really giving the man a show, licks turning into sucks and probing, deep pushes that open him up but don’t satisfy, don’t go all the way in or twist his guts like he wants. Tony learned this move first hand in college from an honest to god sex therapist, and he’s never been more grateful to a shrink than when Loki’s whole body starts quivering and pressing into his face.

God of Mischief his ass, Loki is fire and brimstone all the way down. He’s still trying to hold back, but that just turns his moans into desperate, throaty pants that warm Tony’s cold dead heart.

Eventually he has to catch a breath, so he comes away sucking out a loud, wet slurp that echoes off the walls and makes Loki sneer in disgust. He fucking loves that expression. It’s so real. So Loki.  _Vile mortal, why must you be so gauche, your manner is beneath me, begone._ The sneer migrates downward into a pout and Tony realizes he’s smiling. Probably a loopy, dumb sex smile. He could blame it on a lack of air.

Loki huffs and looks at the bedside lamp, which means he’s feeling things and doesn’t want Tony to notice. Things like vulnerable and maybe a little nervous. He can understand that. They haven’t done this before, with the slow and the careful and the eye contact.

It’s kind of exhilarating. Also terrifying. But definitely better than fucking like bunnies because they’re bored. Maybe a little less good than the shoving into walls and scraping nails down his back sex, but a real close second. Maybe even a tie. Loki tweaks his nipples and rolls his hips in the air next to Tony’s face in what can only be a demand for more. So ok, maybe better than barbarian wall sex. Jury’s still out.

The next few minutes are kind of a blur, mostly because he’s busy eating ass like ice cream, but also because his dick contains half the blood in his body and that’s not a lot of oxygen for the rest of him. Somewhere in there three fingers happen and the moans come back, and if he’s got a cocky black smile on his face, well it’s not like Loki can see it.

All those fingers don’t leave much room for Tony’s mouth, and Loki’s dick is making some really persuasive arguments for why it should be next when Loki goes stiff in his arms.  His first thought is “Shit, did I make him come?” which is ridiculous because, hello, he’s staring right at Loki’s jewels and they are definitely not skeet shooting, but that just raises more questions.

Raising his head, he finds his man right where he left him, face half hidden under ridiculous romance novel hair and staring creepily at the bedside lamp likes its gonna pull out a knife and stab him.

“Lokes?” he says, and damn, is that his voice? He sounds like the human version of coffee grounds. “Hey, Bambi, up here.”

His partner’s eyes slide over to him, and Tony’s balls shrivel up a little. That’s the taking-over-your-planet look, and he’s not sure if it’s a bad thing that his first instinct is to throw his forearm across Loki’s back and hold him down but that’s what he does.

He’s on top of Loki before he really thinks about it, and he’s pressing his lips behind Loki’s ear and biting. He’s whispering stupid shit about how he’s got him and snaking his arm around his waist where the prickly short hairs grow in a line down his belly. The strangest part of the whole thing is that it fucking works. One minute Loki is about to bolt, maybe go rob a bank or something, and then Tony’s in his face and he just stops.

So Tony keeps going. It’s the only answer he’s ever got with Loki and it’s worked so far. It’s not like he can very well teleport after him and drag him home. So Tony always acts fast, carries on through whatever is happening and hopes the god is curious enough to stay and see how it ends. Or trusting enough, if that’s really what they’re doing right now.

Loki starts breathing hard and measured in the way he claims is magical meditation but that Tony is ninety percent sure is Loki holding back tears. He can’t know because Loki never actually cries, but he’s mostly almost sure.

They are definitely treading on Not Good territory but nobody’s said Mjolnir yet, so Tony nudges Loki and flips them over. He arranges Loki so he’s sitting on Tony’s cash and prizes and goes for old faithful. The most fail proof of Loki’s hot spots are his adorable little dime nipples, and he hums when Tony sucks on them. Loki squirms on his dick, looking down his lashes all coy like he doesn’t know what he’s doing and just like that they’re back in business. God bless America.

They kill some time grinding, running hands over arms and chests and making stupid gooey eye contact. They kiss, too. Practically suck each others souls out. Tony wonders if they’ve been taken over by pod people, which is when he thinks  _fuck it_ and worms his fingers back inside Loki.

If this was hot before, doing it with Loki towering over him is on another fucking scale. Three fingers go in like butter, so he puts the pinky in just because. Style points? Whatever, he’s got more important things to think about like Loki leaning indulgently back on Tony’s legs and rocking, rocking, rocking on his hand.

Madly, he wonders what Loki would do if he just stuck his whole fucking fist in there. Bitch, probably. Then moan. Shit, yeah, not today. He’s too far gone. Bring on the main event. He's losing brain cells here.

Dick in the ass. Slick, hot, incredible. Somehow still tight, what the actual fuck. Loki really is just a beast. He’s speaking alien, can’t even fuck himself right because he’s so gone. Tony doesn’t mind, he’s so hard he’s literally seeing white lights and it’s cool.  He is totally cool so long as Loki keeps circling his hips, keeps bouncing on his cock like _—_ oh yeah, fuck yeah like that.

Loki’s eyes slide shut on the first thrust but he keeps trying to look at Tony, eyes wide but head falling back every time he hits his spot just right. His hands are clawing at whatever’s in reach. They scrabble from Tony’s butt to his knees to the rumpled sheets, and finally up to the hair by his ears where they just cling.

It changes the angle and Loki seriously, actually shouts. Not like porno movie shouts, but like Norse god riding into battle, yippee-kai-ye mother fuckers kind of shouts, which must break some kind of seal because then he can’t stop. He’s moaning after every single thrust in that sexy, helpless falsetto voice and whispering alphabet soup alien words.

Yeah, Tony decides, Loki likes to get fucked alright. Not likes as in,  _yeah i like cheeseburgers, everybody likes cheeseburgers_ , and not likes as in,  _sure we can get pineapple pizza I don’t care._  Nah, screw all that bullshit pedestrian kind of liking stuff that other people do. Loki likes this like  _fuck yeah deeper bigger please._ Which is huge because they’ve done some of that, or at least gotten kind of adjacent to it, but now that he’s fucked the bullshit out of Loki the truth’s written all over his face.

He doesn’t care about the cock in his ass, it's just a need like hunger or thirst or sleep. He wants intensity, contact. He wants the slow stretch and the fingers pulling his insides out and the arm holding his back to Tony’s chest like he’ll never let go.

Loki’s heard bullshit promises from everyone he loves for a couple thousand years, and he doesn’t buy that crap anymore. But this? Bodies fused, nerves firing wild and hips grinding, two genius minds reduced to panting and sweaty limbs? Loki believes this. It’s maybe the only part of Loki that somebody else hasn’t scuffed up before Tony got the chance to touch it. And he loves it. Shit, he’ll admit it. It’s fucking incredible. A gift. A sliver of Loki that’s been guarded like some dirty, ugly thing. Kept on ice for a couple millenia just for him. Jesus fuck he’s in love.

Jumbled like that, they crash into their orgasms greedily. Loki’s still with him, but it’s not about Tony when he comes, which is awesome. Loki’s doing it for himself, writhing and hungry, and damn near vicious in the way he jerks his hand over his dick, chasing chasing.

He’s tensing, vice like, and Tony doesn’t last five seconds once Loki starts trying to come in earnest. He pushes deeper and that’s it, he’s gone. Good night sweet prince. Chorus of angels. The body around him twitches, legs squeezing around his hips, and Loki comes all over him.

Tony grins. Definitely a dumb sex smile this time, no chance at all it’s not. Maybe it's lazy not lending a hand or anything, but Tony pats himself on the back for managing to line up their lips and stick the landing. It’s not really a kiss, they’re just breathing each other’s air. Even so, there’s some kind of magic in it. Loki folds over on him. First a head on his shoulder, then a shoulder between his arm and his ribs, then he’s smothered in musky, sated Asgardian.

He’s about to laugh when Loki sits up and uses a sheet to clean them. A sheet. Like, without magic.

Tony fucking glows. Tries to keep his face straight while his ego soaks up the lizard-brain, caveman I-Tarzan-You-Jane flush of masculine conquest. Because he just fucked Loki so good that the most powerful sorcerer on Asgard is too tired to banish his own come.

Loki drops the soiled sheet on the floor and settles himself against Tony’s side. He lays his head on Tony's shoulder and slings an arm over the reactor scar like it's not weird or unsightly. Once he's comfortable he glances up, reading Tony's expression, and slaps him clean across the face. Tony laughs, uncontrollably.

“Don’t gloat, Stark. It is not such a feat to shove a stick in an ant hill and wiggle it around.”

“We’re doing that again.”

Loki slides his foot under Tony’s ankle and scratches long toes through his leg hair. Sniffs.

“Well I would be a poor companion if I did not oblige.” he says.

“Oh so that’s what that was. Obliging.” Tony mumbles.

“Naturally.”

“Totally just humoring me.”

“Sleep, imbecile, or I shall make you.” Loki whispers into Tony’s neck.

“Sure.” Tony says, drifting off. Not certain whether he obeyed or Loki really did tranq him.

Loki waits until he’s certain Tony is asleep, and the peaceful look dissolves. He sits up, extracting himself carefully from Tony’s arms and crawling to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Damn you, Stark.” he whispers, looking over his shoulder, toes tapping anxiously on the concrete floor. For a very long couple of minutes Loki chews his thumbnail to the quick and rocks slightly while he thinks, staring at his own feet.

Tony leans against the bathroom door and puts his thumb to the device on his left hand, rolls the ball to the right and observes Loki’s rocking motion become choppy and unnatural. He speeds through the panic attack that Loki suffers for the next half hour while his past self sleeps oblivious, and slows to normal speed when Loki walks around the bed and picks up Tony’s phone.

This is the part Tony keeps revisiting, again and again like an addict with a fix. Dwelling on the past isn’t healthy, he knows, but he needs this. When the memory of Loki’s sharp grins fade to something blurry and empty, he needs something to remind him.

Across the room, Loki cracks open past-Tony’s cell phone with a little knife summoned from nowhere and removes the bug in the receiver. Reassembles the device and turns it on. Logs in to Tony’s bank account and deletes the transfer of funds he scheduled while Tony was in the shower that morning. Loki looks at his mark’s sleeping form and his eyes go soft, expression nervous.

Tony freezes the scene. He studies the tension held in Loki’s angular jaw and the piercing hope in his smudged, tired eyes. The physical manifestation of the first moment Tony knows Loki loved him. It hurts, cuts him open inside, but it’s what he needs. It makes him whole in a fucked up, masochistic sort of way.

Eventually he can’t bear looking any longer and he closes the bathroom door. Clicks the dial on his palm and waits for everything to go blurry and green while he is pulled back to his own time and place.

He remembers Loki's face clearly now, and it gives him the strength to carry on. Tony has a job to do, and he shouldn't waste any more time dwelling on dreams. This timeline is the winning one, he's made damn sure, and it will play out as it's meant to with no further voyeurism from him.


	2. The original chapter 1

Math is one of the few constants in Tony Stark’s life. Like an armature at the core of everything else, math holds him together; all the spinning plates, the thrumming engines, and the tattered memories held together by paper clips and chewing gum. Everything rests on the basic understanding that all of existence can be explained with the right combination of integers and variables. Underneath chaos and cacophonous amounts of data lay natural laws, simple immutable concepts that even the smallest particles obey. And that is why, in his not-at-all-humble opinion, magic is bullshit.

-

[after the apple, before the suicide attempt.]

Tony wonders what the myths will say about him in a thousand years, then he gets a little giddy because holy shit a thousand years . In a life where he always felt like he was racing against a clock, suddenly he has nothing but time and the possibilities are dizzying. Of course, his personal impact on the world is a lot more personal. Whatever world he creates, he’s gonna have to live in for a long time.

Pretty much the moment Loki leaves for Asgard, Tony calls Parker and has the kid show him all the Chitauri arms dealers he knows about. He calls it a sleepover, but it’s more like an extra large game of Battleship with very long gaps between the turns.

Eventually he has the data on a chip and throws the kid a twenty for his trouble. That’s still enough for a date or a CD or something right? It’s been a long time since he spent double digits on anything. He doesn’t bother being subtle with the take off, just blasts out of there as fast as possible. Don’t get him wrong, Peter is great, but his whole overeager thing makes Tony appreciate Hela’s gothic angst a lot more.

The next day he takes the new suit for a spin around the globe and makes pit stops every few hours to piss and confiscate weapons from terrorists. When he finally gets back to the Tower everything is sore and he is so jet lagged that Loki’s presence on the couch is a complete surprise. It shouldn’t be, because local time is two hours after his scheduled arrival for dinner, but even so Tony does a little double take.

He walks the balcony and has Jarvis pants him so he has time to school his face into something more dignified. Inside Pepper banters with Loki while she paints Hela’s toe nails on the ottoman. Loki is wearing Jori like a scarf and running a hand idly over Jotun Fenrir’s budding horns where he’s sprawled out asleep in his lap. The whole scene is so domestic it would make his younger self puke.

Loki turns his head when Tony touches down, and there’s a flash of a moment before their eyes meet when Tony can see a brilliant, unguarded smile that has nothing to do with him.

Loki’s face is pure, burning want. The intensity bowls him over, from the undisguised _i want to throw you on the table and have you right now_ hunger to the absolutely filthy quirk of his mouth. The unexpected interest is so distracting that he would have walked right off the building if not for the eight disassembly arms holding him on track.

“Hello Ms. Potts, Your Highness.” Tony says, winking at Pepper while he struts up behind Loki and rubs his shoulders in greeting. He bends over to kiss him upside down, quick and warm, but just a taste. He and Pepper have rules about PDA. Besides, if Loki’s that ready to throw down then it is basically Tony’s job to wind him up even more. That’s half the fun of dating Loki.

“Hello, Mr. Stark. How was Singapore?” Pepper teases, following their time honored script with a smile.

“Crowded. Explosive. Ten outta ten.” Tony grins back, pointing at a pair of half empty champagne glasses on the coffee table. “Do I get one if those? What are we celebrating?”

“We made thirty million dollars today.” Pepper says at the same time Loki says “I’m pregnant.”

For a hot second Tony shits his pants, no point denying it. Four months of commitment don’t erase twenty years of one night stands that sometimes turned into two week media fiascos. He really doesn’t want to go on Ellen and explain to bored housewives everywhere that he’s desperately in love with a somewhat reformed psychotic alien invader.

Then he checks Loki’s punch line indicator, which is his mouth. There’s a kind of tilt to it that he either doesn’t know about or can’t suppress, and he only does it when he’s fucking with someone.

Sure enough. Tony flicks him on the nose just because he likes the way it makes him scowl like a wet cat, and Loki giggles in that low wild way that is uniquely his. Tony doesn’t know why Loki being a shit is his kryptonite, but he doesn’t look at it too closely either. It is what it is.

“Well done, Pep.” Tony says, not actually all that surprised. Pepper is always amazing, so her amazing accomplishments are never that surprising.

“It was a collaborative effort.” Loki grumbles.

“Oh, now that is interesting.” Tony says, and rewards Loki with more shoulder rubs. He’s tense, really tense actually. Which doesn’t jive with the room tone. He finds a knot in Loki’s neck and after he works it out Loki hits him with the full powered bedroom eyes. Pepper seems to take that as her cue, screwing the nail polish shut and standing.

Hela looks like one of her hair spiders just pooped in her eye. Pepper bids goodnight to the room at large and struts out the door like a runway model. As soon as the elevator slides shut, Hela drops the moody goth act and paws for the nearest Starkpad.

“What gifts please the Lady Pepper?” Hela asks, her cheeks flushed purple and fingers furiously typing in a shopping website.

Four months on Earth and she’s fully proficient at both using Tony’s tech and spending his money. They grow up so fast.

“Don’t you think she’s a little old for you?”

“I am six hundred and sixty.”

“Age isn’t a number?” Tony says doubtfully, scratching at his chest. It’s an old habit from his arc reactor days. When his brain’s running down a trail of logic without him it’s just where his hand goes.

At forty-four he likes to think of himself as a perfectly aged wine, but with his new lifespan he supposes he’s a lot closer to grape seeds. He usually thinks of himself as older than Loki. Obviously not in years, because Loki was born in the Stone Age. But by human standards, Tony is well past his youth and he has a certain sense that Loki isn’t. It’s a feeling Tony gets from his fragile arrogance, and the way he craves direction only to discard whatever advice Tony offers. The restless mutation of his personality, like he’s still discovering who he is.

Still, hearing the actual number clicks Tony’s brain on. Calculating is not entirely voluntary. He’s good at math, it’s what his brain does. The margin of error is pretty high, given the double unknowns of X (average Asgardian lifespan) and Y (Loki’s exact age) but the rough difference between he and Loki’s ages amuses him.

Circling the couch, Tony shoots his partner a scandalized look.

“Loki, you cradle robber. You’ve got to be at least two thousand.”

“Fourteen hundred.” Loki corrects, setting his glass aside and prodding Fenrir awake.

Despite having four digits, that number sounds low. Fourteen hundred minus six hundred sixty equals—seven hundred forty. That can’t be right. That would make Loki barely older than Hela when-

Tony’s hand stiffen on Loki’s shoulder, and his partner gives him a narrow look. There’s an abandoned champagne flute on the coffee table, and Tony snags it to cover his surprise.

Fortunately Hela crosses her arms and draws Loki’s attention back.

Loki purses his lips, and says, “Anthony is right. You will find more in common with younger humans.”

“And where should I meet them? I am not allowed to leave.” Hela says, closing the online store and throwing the tablet on the floor. Good thing the screen doesn’t crack, because then he’d have no choice but to get involved. Instead he pulls a drowsy Fen out of Loki’s lap and coaxes Jori to wrap around his wrist.

Loki sits up, brushing his hair behind his ear.There is a father-daughter moment brewing, so Tony makes his escape. Walking as quickly as possible, he tries not to eavesdrop but it’s an open plan apartment. Noise carries.

“I know what I want.” Hela says. “I’m not a child.”

“There is much pain you do not know. I worry.”

“It is my choice.” she presses.

“As was my first.” he hears Loki murmur, subdued. “I was your age and eager to grow. I wish I had not.”

Tony sprints the rest of the way to the bathroom because he doesn’t trust himself not to storm back in and make a scene. There were things in books he read that add layers to Loki’s admission, but he tries not to think about them. He was not meant to hear, and ultimately there is nothing he can do about it. Whatever went down, it happened hundreds of years before Tony even existed. Rather than ruminate on ancient history, he turns on the nightlight and convinces the cranky little monsters that they do, in fact, need to sleep to live.

-

[originally part of the helicarrier sex scene. Boy, was I sad to see it go.]

“I would take your ass, but I don’t want to wait.” Tony says, trailing his fingers further down to Loki’s other entrance, slipping between his labia and sinking into the wet heat.

“This too, I like this part a lot.” he says, smiling at the way Loki’s eyes close and his mouth quirks in a tiny, shy grin. “But the little biters already have us outnumbered. We probably shouldn’t make any more, you know?”

Loki’s smile falters, lips parting like he wants to say something but the words don’t come. He frowns. Tony decides to leave that one for later, and throws Loki’s knees over his shoulder.

“Keep your hands up. Don’t let them move.” Tony says.

“Yes, Mister Stark.” Loki moans, his body twisted by the position in a way that makes his breasts jut out proudly and quiver with every breath. For long minutes he licks and grazes his teeth over deep purple buds simply because he wants to, because it breaks down Loki’s walls like nothing else. And they do break, bit by bit until Loki is floating and relaxed, and his hands drift apart.

“Hands.” he scolds.

Loki rushes to correct himself, studying Tony’s face like he’s not sure what comes next. It strikes Tony that what they’re doing is kind of silly. Like a game. Oh no Loki, you moved your arms, you’re in trouble now you bad, bad boy.

It’s naked Simon Says. Naked, adult Simon Says. Sexy as hell Simon Says. But still. His lack of response makes Loki uneasy, and Tony decides there’s no harm in messing around.

Smirking, he spreads Loki’s legs and runs a hand up his contorted torso and back down. The white of the Jotun lines stands out on dark blue skin, taut and slightly curved by the bend of Loki’s back. Like a road map of sensitive, exposed nerves right there for Tony to play with.

“Looks like you disobeyed an order, Slugger.” he says, the nickname dropping into place on it’s own. It’s only natural, a big neon sign blinking I’m messing around, don’t freak out . Loki puzzles over what to say.

“I’m… sorry?” he says, his brows cocking in a questioning expression that doesn’t hold a trace of remorse. There’s a minuscule edge of mockery underneath that eggs Tony on.

Clearing his throat to kill the laughter, he summons a stern expression.

“You, uh, you know what happens when you disobey, don’t you?”

Do I? Loki’s expression says.

“Come on Liesmith, make something up.” Tony says in a stage whisper, fighting to keep his composure.

“Perhaps you reward me when I misbehave. Wouldn’t that be novel?”

“Oh, is this not edgy enough for you?” Tony asks, hovering a fingernail over the path of a winding white line. The dips between are hot spots, but the lines themselves are like exposed nerves. Tension unfolds along Loki’s stomach. He lies perfectly still, attention locked on Tony’s hand.

“Maybe you don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe sometimes you get a reward, and sometimes you get the other thing.”

“A fifty-fifty chance?” Loki asks, brows arched.

“How do you like gambling?”

“Inconsistent outcomes are not a very effective correctional practice.”

“Well no, but it could be fun.”

Flinty challenge settles on Loki’s face. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” Tony dares, pressing just the tip of his nail on the ridged skin.

The simple threat does something to Loki, makes his pulse stutter and his dick twitch. His nostrils flare as he unwraps his fingers from his wrist.

Tony raises his brows, and Loki pauses, studying him.

And very deliberately puts his hands down.

“You are such a sucker.” Tony says with a sharp smile, and scratches along the line for an agonizing inch.

The look on Loki’s face is priceless. He gasps, his legs curling up and his hands clapping together in an instant. New found respect gleams in his eyes, and a peculiar satisfaction warms Tony’s gut. It’s liberating, addictive, completely wicked.

On a whim, he slips from the ridge to the groove and strokes, transferring his current cocktail of uncertainty and sadistic glee. It’s so unusual that he just needs to share it, to show Loki how that made him feel. Loki allows the emotions wash over him, licking his lip and processing.

A dirty grin spreads across his face. “Having fun, are you?”

“You know, I really am.” Tony says, dazed.

-

[The original draft of the cornbread scene.]

Thor shows up with an armful of self-heating military rations, an open keg of beer, and a promise that violence will not ensue if Tony allows him admission to he and Loki’s ‘chambers.’ Literal and easily offended they may be, but Asgardians really do have a knack for letting bygones be bygones.

Loki is snug on the mattress in his tactical suit, puzzling through a round of Solitaire. The high collar almost covers the massive hickey Tony left under his right ear. Almost.

“Loki, you look much better.” Thor says with a hesitant smile.

“I look like a bilgesnipe and smell at least half as bad.” Loki says, laying a card on a pile and not looking up.

Thor grins at the acidic reply and gives Tony a thumbs up with his non-keg hand, as if this bodes well for the rest of the conversation. Granted, Loki’s current state is about as happy as Thor ever sees him so it kind of figures.

Tony tugs nervously at the v-neck of his scrubs and shoots Thor a quelling look. He’s spent all day getting Loki stable, and if Point Break ruins it he might just buy out Kellogg and shut down every Pop Tarts plant on Earth. The look Thor returns is perplexed and doubtful, like he thinks Tony is being dramatic.

“Are any of those chili mac?” Tony asks, pointing at the meal pouches in Thor’s arm and plopping on the other side of the cot. He really wants to fit himself into the space beside Loki’s crossed legs, but this way Thor has no choice but to sit on the floor.

The big guy drops the pile of brown pouches, and squints at the labels.

“Chicken and rice, meatballs with mashed potato, beef, ah, een-chil-ay-” Thor says, stumbling on the foreign word.

“Enchilada.” Tony interrupts, “It’s Spanish for ‘dump directly in toilet.’ Trust me, that one gives everybody the shits.”

Thor puts it aside with a dubious nod. ”Ah, here we are. Macaroni and beef chili. Oh, this one includes coffee!”

“Yeah, see the silver pouch? You put water in there and it heats up.” Tony says, not bothering to get up and do it himself. Thor seems eager, he can have at it.

“Most ingenious.” Thor praises, squatting on the floor and pouring a water bottle into the line of plastic pouches. “And you, Loki?”

“I think I shall abstain.” Loki grumbles, flipping rapidly through the deck of cards. His game is locked, the card he needs trapped under an eight of clubs that has nowhere to go. Looking at the spread upside down, Tony moves two stacks around and reveals a nine of diamonds.

“He’ll have the meatballs.” Tony says, stacking the eight card on the nine. Loki sighs and drops the deck. Gathers the cards and starts shuffling anxiously.

“Very good.” Thor nods, pulling several bottles of water and three goblets from a shopping bag. “To business, then.”

“What does the council want?” Loki asks.

Thor frowns. “I expect they want to lecture you for your behavior after the battle. Officially, however, it is to do with your children.”

Tony and Loki both tense at the same time.

“I’ve not broken any rules.” Loki says warily, “Nor have they.”

“They live in Stark’s tower. With Iron Man’s change in status there are complications.” Thor explains.

That sounds ominous.

“Status?” Tony asks, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“Oh, that’s right I almost forgot.” Thor says, smiling broadly and dipping the goblets into the keg. “Congratulations are in order!”

“Anthony does not drink alcohol. You are being rude.”

Point Break pauses as though puzzled by the idea of a man willingly avoiding liquor, and shrugs. He sets two mugs by his own meal and raises the third in a triumphant pose.

“Hail, Man of Iron! So fearsome were you in the battle of Sokovia, and with such fury did you make the sky ring with the cries of your victims, that you have been named a Category I threat! Congratulations, friend, this is quite an achievement.”

“I thought I was the only Category I?” Loki protests.

“Aye, and now you are a matched pair!” Thor says, pushing the sloshing goblet into Loki’s hand.

“I’d like to thank Phil Coulson, my parents, and also Jesus.” Tony deadpans.

Category I is reserved for immediate threats to global safety. Top priority, imminent danger, seek and destroy kind of threats. He thinks that’s a bit of an overstatement, even if he can kill a hundred robots with a thought bomb.

Thor squats down to check on the food and starts pulling portions out of the heating bags.

“They will insist that the children be moved.” Loki sighs, and sips at his beer. “Which will invalidate their visas. Blast it all.”

“There is also the matter of your outburst, Loki. You dealt a serious blow to Ms. Hill. It would be within the Council’s rights to revoke your pardon.” Thor says.

Tony angles a look. “You hit Maria?”

“She threatened me.”

“Loki-”

“Spare me your moralizing, you were the cause of my distress in the first place.”

“Are you seriously blaming me for your-”

“Friends,” Thor interrupts with a tense smile, “I don’t mean to cause you discord. I thought this a cause for celebration.”

Pinching his nose, Tony sighs and gets up to grab a spoon and his food. He snags the rest of he and Loki’s preservative-loaded meals while he’s up and pads back to the cot.

“It is very much not a good thing.” Loki says.

“Eat up, Slugger.” Tony says, folding Loki’s bag of meatballs and sauce into a bowl the way he and Rhodey used to in ROTC.

There was a time after his parent’s accident where the military seemed like a good idea. Purpose, an escape, the chance to belong to something. With Tony’s shitty attitude it didn’t last long, but it was an experience. It made the family business personal, back when he actually believed selling weapons kept people safe.

Loki scowls, looking down his nose at the red sludge. Very nearly rolling his eyes, Tony sits beside him and unwraps his meal. It’s pretty awful too, but he hasn’t eaten since New York so his brain convinces him it’s delicious.

-

[the original scene that followed the helicarrier sex scene.]

A dunk in the sink makes quick work of Loki’s mess. Of course there aren’t washcloths so he has to drip dry like a stray dog and wipe Loki down with the wet sheet. It’s almost like this place wasn’t designed for prisoners to have wild sex in it.

Checking himself out in the mirror he momentarily questions Loki’s sanity for wanting to sleep with him. He looks like a Nazgul cosplaying a Silent Hill nurse. But then again Loki just ripped a hole in his stomach to get Tony’s attention, so maybe now isn’t a great time to evaluate his lucidity.

Under the skin-bleaching fluorescent lights the only familiar thing about his appearance is the incriminating rug burn on his cheeks. Everything else looks like he had his face swapped with a homeless dude. Without any gel his hair sits flat and matted on his forehead, and there’s four days of stubble staging a coup under his goatee. Flecks of blood are stuck in the pores under his eyes and his attempts to scrub them off give him mottled black circles. The tired splotches make his eyes look like they are falling out of his face.

Hideous sunglasses are waiting for him on the sink, and Tony can’t make himself wear them. They are so inexcusably ugly. He would honestly rather tattoo a penis on his forehead. While he’s fumbling around for a decent one-liner, his eyes slide over to where Loki is watching him from the cot.

“I dislike not seeing your eyes.” Loki says.

He seems off, not as airy-fairy as he was twenty minutes ago. Tony dabs at his dripping nose and takes the glasses off. There’s not a whole lot to be overwhelmed by in a glorified shoe box, so he doesn’t strictly need them yet.

Shuffling to the edge of the cot, Loki shakes out his hands and cracks his knuckles.

“Alright?” Tony asks, hanging the sunglasses on the v-neck of his scrubs.

“Yes, fine.” Loki says, rising to his feet. He ambles toward the hole in the wall, then seems to reconsider. Turning back, he catches Tony standing up to follow him and his lip twitches down. Stepping through the jagged hole in the wall, he gets a pretty astounding view of Loki’s bare Jotun ass while he snatches up his tac suit.

“You seem calmer.”

“As I said I would be.” Loki says, sliding into a pair of compression shorts and starting the process of wrestling his socks onto his feet. He’s gotten better at it since Tony got him tube socks instead of the fussy ankle length ones. He walks across the room to sit beside Loki on the cot.

“Right, that reminds me-” Tony says in a serious tone, searching for a segue into the ground rules discussion they both know is imminent.

His partner pauses, one foot halfway in a neoprene pant leg and stares at him. At first Tony is perplexed by the sudden stillness. Then he remembers snapping in Loki’s face and demanding his attention. Apparently he took that instruction as an all-the-time rule. And wow, that’s something else.

With a certain tone of voice Tony can have Loki’s complete focus whenever he wants. Not because Loki fears him, or is indebted to him, but because he wants his approval. Because he wants to do whatever makes Tony happy.

It’s an epiphany. He always believed Loki could evolve, but he also knew it was a gamble. Knew without a doubt that Loki’s interest was fundamentally self-serving. Given only because he wanted what Tony offered in exchange. Not now. The person sitting beside him is a stranger, a clean slate.

Loki swallows, frozen in place while Tony frantically remodels his expectations. Narrow blue fingers pinch nervously at black fabric, and with their eyes glued to each other Tony can see the entire process of Loki deciding he said something wrong. He can track the flow of confusion to fear to self-blame to anxiety, and it kick starts his brain. His hand darts to the back of Loki’s neck and he squeezes.

“Good, Loki. That’s exactly what I asked you to do.” he chokes out, surprising both of them. Loki’s hope and relief cuts up Tony’s cynical little heart. He tips Loki’s head down, so it’s clear he doesn’t have to look at him, and twists a lock of hair around his finger.

“Go on, get dressed.”

Loki does. He’s efficient, pulling the tight fitting suit on with a lot less stumbling than Tony would have managed. He hesitates over the boots, his lip twisting as he sets them upright from where Tony left them on the floor in disarray. Glancing at him, Loki licks his lip and fusses with a bootstrap for a little too long.

“Problem?”

“I don’t expect to leave.” Loki says.

Tony doesn’t understand what he’s asking. Loki taps his bare toes on the floor. Oh, he’s not sure if getting dressed includes everything or just the clothes.

Figures. This is the guy that reads every line in every legal document, including the terms of service on websites and the health warning labels on cleaning products. Of course he’s gonna split hairs.

“You can keep those off. If you’re not sure about something, just ask.” Tony says, prepared to regret saying so. He has no doubt Loki will require him to give orders in the kind of exacting detail generally reserved for product warranties and user manuals. But that’s a tomorrow problem.

“Then should I wear my armor, Mister Stark?”

“Nah, I dig this look. Leave it off.” Tony smirks, brushing Loki’s hair over his shoulder and tugging his zipper the rest of the way shut.

-

[alternate use of the Cave of Wonders, removed because it became needless exposition. The opening lines are fun though.]

The faceless statue sits across from him, and maybe he has a few hinges loose because he imagines it’s Loki. Imagines wavy black hair and intelligent eyes. He clears his throat and sits up straight, leaning in like he’s practicing pick up lines in the mirror.

“So, I know you aren’t interested in hearing my last wishes.” he says in a cool business voice, “But given recent developments in my emotional maturity, I would really, really like you to fuck me.”

The faceless stone statue doesn’t respond. Tough audience.

Straightening his t-shirt, Tony pretends to adjust cuff links on his bare wrists and lifts his head in pretend surprise.

“Oh, hey Slugger, when did you get home? Damn, babe, you look ravishing. That blood and viscera really suits you.” Tony says, and the statue remains as unmoved as before.

Tony deflates, looking down at his hands. “You’re right, he’d think I was trying to trick him into something.”

“Perhaps a candlelit dinner first?” a prim voice cuts in.

Tony whips his head up. Red waves of aether wrap around the statue, engorging and shrinking until it finds the correct shape. A long haired Loki sits across from him, neatly dressed in an orange robe with olive green accents. Narrow eyes look Tony up and down, and his mouth spreads in a devious grin. A silver ring glimmers from his bottom lip.

“I’m not great at asking.” Tony says, stunned.

"Pity, neither was I. To think, all the fun we missed.”

"Wow, you're a real downer without me." Tony says, and regrets it when Not-Loki agrees.


End file.
